The Mugger, The Hug and The Woman
by SecretOfTheVortex
Summary: Sherlock Holmes tells the story of the time he was mugged, and how he used his skills of deduction to escape the robber. At least, that's how it started. Rated K for lack of smut. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except for the mugger, the rest belong to BBC.
1. Hug to Mug

Way back then, I had black hair and multicolored eyes. What most people remembered about me was my coat. It was a black trench coat with deep pockets, and the collar was always turned up. I held many things in the coat. Every day I solved a crime, every night I went home and had dinner, which I had usually had alone until recently. Most days I walked home from the police station, as I usually help them solve crimes, and most walks were uneventful, with only my thoughts to give me company. That walk, however, was not ordinary.

As I walked home through the busy crowd towards Baker Street, a stranger with a stubble-covered face greeted me as if I were a close friend. "Hey pal!" he said, giving me a hug. I hugged back partially out of shock, which was a foolish mistake.

This stranger then pulled a gun out of his pocket and put it to my side. "Come with me if you ever want to see your pregnant wife again." He whispered in my ear, putting his arm around me and leading me to a deserted alley through the thick crowds.

Once we were in the alley and unnoticeable to the people on the streets, the man shoved me to the ground and pointed his gun at me. "Give me the coat!" He yelled.

I looked up at him. I had trained myself from a young age to analyze data, including people. I knew he was a criminal. Probably robbed for a business, but was a lower class robber, judging by the faint cigarette smoke. He had been clothed today for this job, judging by his tan lines. He was, determined by the above, a smoker who didn't have a lot of money, worked for an organized crime mob, and still suffered from the memory of his parents' death.

Once I explained this to him, he blinked, shocked I could know this much. "I'll be needing the money, Sir. I gotta family to feed. Gotta to do this to live, 'less I wanna starve to death." The man said quietly, as if he was ashamed of what he was doing to live. I shrugged at his remark and removed the coat, knowing what he would think about its contents by the way he styled his hair.

The thief rummaged through its contents, digging in the coat's outer pockets and fixing the black collar, which I always turned up. I took this as an opportunity to go to my mind palace.

The alleyway was small; the ground dark and damp. There was an open dumpster which smelled of rotting beef behind my captor. It was green, made of recycled plastics according to the sticker on its side. I then studied my captor. He was married, but was hiding that from his boss according to the raw circle on his finger. He cared about his family and loved them as I loved mine. His hands were big, but his legs were weak.

His low voice snapped me out of my mind palace. "A watch? A tin of mints and a broken watch?" He looked up at me, just in time to see me approaching. I quickly grabbed behind his knees and pulled forward. He fell backwards and I let go, securing his fate. He fell into the garbage dump, the lid closing after he fell.

"Don't worry Mark," I assured him, picking up my coat and turning up the collar. "The butcher has his garbage picked up tomorrow at one. Now, don't feel bad, most criminals in England are thwarted- by myself, no less. If only you looked in the inside pockets, you would have found things of value." As I spoke, I heard her walking towards me.

"You didn't foil me, Sherlock," she said, a glint in her eye, her bellying barely showing the child inside of her. I smiled

"I didn't foil you, I married you, Woman." I replied. Irene smirked. I wrapped my arm around my wife, one hand on her barely swollen belly, and together we walked back into the crowded streets, back to Baker Street.


	2. Coming out

As we walked down the street, my lovely wife looked at me. "What mob?" She asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

"I don't know." I lied. She had gotten involved before and I didn't want her to get hurt.

"You're lying." She deduced. I chuckled._  
_

"Even when your hormonal from pregnancy, your deduction is spot on." I replied. Second mistake of the day. Irene looked up at me, now knowing why I wouldn't tell her.

"Is it...him?" She asked, as a shiver ran through her spine. I looked at her, wishing she would tell me what had happened to her to make her tremble at the very mention of her former colleague.

"It doesn't matter, it's over now." I assured her. She looked at me, frustrated.

"It's never over with him! He will keep coming after you, again and again, until you die!" She whispered loudly, not wanting to draw the attention of the others on the street. We turned the corner and stopped in front of 221B. I opened the door and strode in, letting Irene close it behind the three of us.

"He just wanted me to play, he didn't even send a good mugger-" I started, running up the stairs and into the living room, Irene following behind.

"Don't try to fool me, Sherlock! For the year we've been married, you insisted no one except for you know that I was alive, that I stay alone in a separate flat so John wouldn't know, your even sheltering me from Moriarty! It needs to stop, I can handle myself." She interupted, obviously fed up by my trying to "shelter" her. I sighed.

"Fine. If you don't want to be sheltered anymore, I understand." I gave in. It had been good while it lasted, but I couldn't hide her from everyone. "First step, telling John."

Irene nodded. Telling John was a logical first step, although a tricky one. Irene had been proclaimed dead for almost two years, explaining that to John would take a lot of work. I had no doubt, however, that we would be able to succeed.

I smiled at my wife. "My beautiful wife, you are always capable of getting whatever you want." I stated. She gave me a sly smile.

"I know what people like. It gets me places."


	3. Not Dead

I waited for Johns arrival, sitting in my favorite chair. Irene started to make tea, the strongest that we had in the cupboard, knowing John would need something for the shock. As she made the tea, John walked up the stairs.

"Sherlock, I'm home!" John said, entering the living room. I smiled.

"John, I have something to tell you. It's about...my love life." I started, knowing it would peak his interest. I wasn't dissapointed, his eyebrow cocked and he tilted his head.

" Love life?" He questioned. Irene decided that this moment would be the best to reveal herself. She walked out in a blue robe, hair in a messy bun and holding two cups of tea. She looked almost...domestic, in a way.

"Tea's ready." She said, passing me a mug. Johns eyes bugged and his posture straighten when he saw the woman believed dead. Irene looked at him, said "Hello John.", and simply walked back into the kitchen.

"But...she...she's...How?" John stuttered. I rolled my eyes at this. I honestly couldn't help it, people were just so clueless sometimes.

"It was simple really, all I needed was a machete." I retorted blandly. I wasn't really interested in recounting my terriost cell expirence.

"A machete? Sherlock-" John started. I knew I would have to explain myself, so I cut him off.

"I took down the terriost cell with the machete." I stated. Telling John was going to be harder then I thought, since he had been assured by Mycroft that Irene was undoubtly dead.

"But...but Irene, she's-"

"Two words John." Irene said, as she walked out of the kitchen and handed John a cup of tea.

"Not dead."


End file.
